Moving forward
by Alias-vendor
Summary: "Kurt, there will always be people who say those things to you but you have to believe me," Blaine urged him, a tone of desperation in his voice, "it's not because they hate you, it's because they're frightened of what you are."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Yes, you caught me. I am, in fact, Ryan Murphy disguised as an eighteen year old university student obsessed with writing fanfiction about my favourite characters because writing what happens on the show simply doesn't satisfy me any longer. Besides, they don't let me do what I want anyway.

...

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine, I guess." Kurt absently nudged a lettuce leaf with his fork, eyes fixed listlessly on the repetitive motion.

Blaine raised an eyebrow, "say it one more time and I'm _sure_ the salad will believe you." He smiled slightly, "me? I'm a little harder to convince."

"Really, I'm okay." Kurt looked up, fixing a painfully insincere smile on his ashen face, "Just tired, and a little shell shocked," he admitted, a raw quality invading his tightly controlled voice.

"Mmmhmm," Blaine remained unconvinced.

Kurt sighed and dropped the farce, "you have no _idea_ how seriously I'm contemplating _begging_ my dad to let me transfer. I just don't know if I can handle this..." he trailed off, not entirely sure what 'this' even was.

"I know you can," Blaine grimaced at the hallmark card quality of his response but it was, nonetheless, true. Kurt was one of the bravest kids he'd met – certainly braver than he'd ever been.

Kurt snorted, "At this point I don't know if I _want_ to. Honestly," he felt tears welling in his eyes and ducked his head to covertly wipe them away, "why should I go through this if I don't have to?"

"You shouldn't have to," Blaine agreed, "but sometimes running away isn't the right option. I told you that's what I did," he paused, "and maybe it was the best thing for _me_, but maybe it wasn't." He caught Kurt's gaze, "Kurt, I wasn't strong enough to stand up to them and I regret that. I regret that I let them_ win_, that I let them think it was _okay_ to hurt me because I was gay – because I was different. But it's not okay, it is _never _okay." He smiled ruefully, "listen to me preach," and reached over to grab Kurt's hand, "I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you to stay because if transferring is what you really want to do then I'm behind it one-hundred percent. But I don't think it is." He surveyed the other carefully, but Kurt had clamped down on his emotions and was sporting one hell of a poker face, "I haven't known you for very long but you have never struck me as the type to give up, not when something _matters_ as much as this does."

"I just don't know if it's worth it," Kurt whispered.

"I can't answer that for you," Blaine gripped his hand a little tighter, "but think of all you'd be giving up if you left."

"Slushies, dumpster dives, daily make-out sessions with the lockers," Kurt rolled his eyes, feigning nonchalance "how will I ever survive."

"And friends?" Blaine's look told him he just didn't buy it, "and your glee club? You're telling me you won't miss it, not even a little?"

"It's not like I'm even appreciated there," Kurt scoffed, "they wouldn't even notice if I left." His thoughts drifted to the boy's complete dismissal of his ideas, and puck's suggestion that he 'make himself useful' scoping out the competition, "and as for friends..." he resumed poking at his salad, "let's just say I haven't been then nicest person to be around lately." He fought back tears; he wasn't going to cry – not this time.

"I'm sure they'll forgive you," Blaine looked troubled, "what you're going through...it's enough to screw with anyone's head."

"It's no excuse," Kurt muttered self-deprecatingly then sighed, "I don't really want to talk about this anymore."

"Alright," Blaine frowned slightly, "but think carefully about it, okay? Don't make a rash decision you might regret later."

Kurt offered him a tiny smile as the other boy released his hand and lent back into his chair, "Okay."

Blaine was loath to leave it there, but if Kurt didn't want to talk about it what else could he do?

Kurt's I-phone beeped loudly with a message from Mercedes.

_Where are you? Glee started 5 minutes ago!_

"Oh crap," he muttered and dropped the fork, pushing the salad away from him, before glancing apologetically at the mildly curious boy across from him, "I'm late for Glee."

"Oh?" Blaine lent forward, "mind if I tag along?" he grinned, "after all, you spied on _my_ club..."

Standing up, Kurt raised an eyebrow, "if I stuck out like a sore thumb," he surveyed Blaine's uniform, "then you're a flannel T-shirt trying to pass for an Armani suit."

"I'm not sure..." Blaine laughed, "But I think that was an insult?"

"Take it how you want," Kurt grinned slightly, "but suffice to say that in this instance, hiding in plain sight will not work."

"And here I was thinking I had the school fooled," he fell in step beside Kurt, lengthening his strides to match the others.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Kurt rolled his eyes and tilted his chin in his typical haughty composure, "considering eighty percent of the Neanderthals here lack the mental acuity to properly recognise a fashion statement when they see one."

"Ah," Blaine nodded knowingly, "and therein lies the root of their jealousy."

Kurt glanced at him, "what?"

"Well obviously, "Blaine shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, "they're envious of your natural talent at looking fabulous while they roam around dressed like cavemen lumbering around the roasting pit."

Kurt blinked and then shook himself, "I don't think I should hang out with you," he said jokingly, "you're feeding my ego to the point where my daily tormentors may, in fact, be unable to toss me into the dumpster" he paused, "...on second thought, keep it up."

Anger flashed in Blaine's eyes but he said nothing, choosing instead to change the topic. "So what classes did you miss during our lunch getaway?"

"Double English," Kurt frowned, "it's not a big deal, but I'll have to think of some excuse as to why I missed it..."

"Sorry," Blaine grinned ruefully, "should've kept an eye on the time."

"No," Kurt smiled tentatively, "I needed that," he sighed, "I have a big decision to make."

"Don't rush it," was all Blaine said.

"I know," Kurt paused at the door to the choir room, "so what's your story for being here?"

"You checked me out," Blaine winked, "I'm just returning the favour."

Kurt's mouth went dry and his heart skipped a couple of beats, "...right," he opened the door and flounced in, Blaine at his heels.

"Kurt," Mr. Shue raised an eyebrow, "so nice of you to join us."

"Hummel," Puck said disbelievingly as he eyed Blaine, "you're like the worst spy_ ever_."

"Yeah you're not supposed to bring the competition home with you," Artie pointed out helpfully.

"Wait a minute," Shue levelled a stern look at Kurt, "you _spied _on them?"

"So what?" Kurt defended, "it's nothing we haven't done before."

"Guys! I keep telling you not to do this!" Shue threw his hands up in desperation.

"Relax ," Kurt rolled his eyes, "that wasn't even the reason I went." He motioned for Blaine to follow him to a seat, "this is Blaine by the way. Since I did, in fact, end up 'spying' on them, he thought it only fair he returned the favour."

Shue sighed, "Well welcome then," he said half-heartedly, "sorry for my kids' _deplorable_ lack of common decency," he levelled a glare at the seemingly unconcerned Kurt who was inspecting his nails. The death grip he had on his satchel was the only indication he was in any way bothered by the proceedings.

Blaine shot him a reassuring look and shrugged, "we don't mind. We like tough competition," he grinned wolfishly, "hope you're all up for a challenge."

"Oh please," Santana rolled her eyes, "a bunch of gay guys singing Disney hits? How _scary_!"

Kurt leaned forward, about to protest, but Blaine stilled him with a hand on his arm, "I got this."

Blaine raised an eyebrow at the smirking Latino, "I see our reputation precedes us," he chuckled, "but that's just the junior choir, the Warblers are much more" he winked suggestively, "...versatile."

He took in the slightly stunned faces, "but don't take my word for it, you should see for yourselves," he shrugged, "perhaps a...soirée of sorts – check each other out."

"That's a great idea, Blaine," Shue clapped his hands together, "we'll have a scrimmage, is it easy for you guys to get out here?"

"It's not a problem," Blaine relaxed back into his seat, "how's Thursday 3.00?"

"We have a rehearsal then," Shue confirmed, "you might need to ask your coach first, though."

"Will do." Blaine glanced over at Kurt to see a small smile adorning his face and leaned over to whisper in his ear, "isn't that what _you_ thought when you saw us?"

"What?" Kurt asked, slightly startled by the other's proximity in public, no less.

"That we were a gay school?" Blaine's tone was laced with mirth.

"Oh yeah," Kurt coloured slightly.

"So as I was saying," Shue broke into their conversation, "this week's theme is a little different than what we've done before. This week is about challenging yourselves." He held up a hand at the groans of protest, "no seriously guys," he fixed them with a stern look, "you're all too complacent, thinking the competition's going to just lay down and let us walk all over them. Kurt," he said suddenly, "what did you think of the Warblers?"

Kurt blinked, "oh they were..." he blushed slightly, "they were really good." He could almost _feel_ Blaine's grin.

"Up to our standard, then?" Shue asked with a knowing look.

"Mmm definitely," Kurt nodded, "...if not better." He added cheekily.

"So you see guys," Shue interrupted the yells of protest, "we need to challenge ourselves to continue to improve _so_," he grinned wickedly, "you're all going to pick a song that's _completely_ opposite to what you'd normally sing.

"I am _not_ singing some pansy-ass..." Puck began but slouched back in silence when Shue shot him a glare.

"Now I don't necessarily mean gender wise," Shue forestalled the latest burst of indignant conversation, "but something that's so ridiculously different from the norm you have to actually _work_ to sing it well."

"," Rachel began amidst a chorus of groans, "can I just say that I accept this challenge most emphatically and that I believe it will give me a long overdue chance to show just how vocally versatile I truly am."

"Oh please," Mercedes grumbled, "you take one _step_ outside yo' little white-girl show tune box and yo' _versatility_ will turn back into a pumpkin."

"Guys," Shue cut over them, "you are _all_ capable of breaking out of your boxes. I want to see it happen."

"How opposite are we talking here?" Satana flicked her hair over her shoulder, "like should I be singing Disney, or something?" She scoffed lightly.

"Think Kurt in his Mellencamp phase," Shue chuckled.

"Mellencamp?" Blaine fought to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Kurt groaned slightly, "not my finest moment," he lamented.

"It would have been a great performance," Shue reassured him, "if we weren't so completely flummoxed by your outfit."

"And if the theme hadn't been a song that represented your voice," Rachel put in helpfully.

"I liked it," Brittany smiled around the room, "I love everything my sweet baby gay does."

A chorus of guffaws exploded after a short period of stunned silence.

"Brittany!" Kurt buried his head in his hands, "I told you not to call me that in _public_," he muttered, absolutely mortified. He could feel Blaine shuddering beside him, hand clasped over his mouth in a futile effort to contain his laughter.

"Aww..." Puck crooned, "is wittle baby Kurt embarrassed?"

Kurt sat up straight and tilted his chin in his typical 'I'm better than you, and you know it' pose and glared, "it seems to me that the only children in this room are the lot of you." He said frostily.

"Can't take a joke, Hummel?" Puck jeered, "or are you just embarrassed in front of your little _boyfriend_."

"I know the concept of a _friend_ is a little too advanced for your brain cell," Kurt sneered, "but we're not all self-absorbed manwhores willing to sleep with anything possessing a _pulse_." He'd had just enough of pretty much _everyone_ teasing him about pretty much _everything_ and damn it if this wasn't the last straw.

Blaine placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down but he shook him off angrily. Actions like that would only fuel the rumours.

"Well I'd never sleep with _you_," Puck shot back, "so where does that put you? How does it feel to be lower than a sheep on the sexual food chain?"

"Guys enough," Shue began but was promptly drowned out by Kurt's unbelieving scoff.

"I'm not even going to respond to that," he shook his head, lips curled in a derisive sneer, "since I'm pretty sure you just insulted _yourself_, but why don't you just go back to Juvie, Puck? Where you don't have to be afraid to want to take it up the-"

"Kurt!" Shue grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of his seat, "that's just about enough-" he was again drowned as Puck's loud voice sailed through the room.

"You wanna repeat that, _fag_?" Puck had flushed red with fury at Kurt's accusation and was currently fighting the impulsive urge to bury his fist in the other's frosted veneer.

"Hey don't call him that!" Finn yelled, breaking free of Rachel's grip on his arm and making towards Puck.

"I did _not _just hear you call my boy that _word_," Mercedes began at the same time, accent thickening with anger.

"Puck!" Mr Shue let go of Kurt as the boy pulled out of his hold, "that language is unaccepta-"

"Oh _now_ you care?" Kurt turned on the hapless teacher, derision lacing his tone, "give the farce _up_ ," he laughed hollowly, "you think we haven't opened our eyes to the fact that you _don't_? Why don't you just go hop on back into your little happy bubble," he waved his fingers in the air, "and ignore it like you do _every_ time you see something that doesn't fit with your overly simplistic world view?"

"Kurt," Blaine placed a hand on his shoulder, "I think you should calm down."

"Oh so _now _I shouldn't stand up for myself?" He yelled at Blaine, pushing the other's hand off his shoulder, "I am _sick_ to _death_ of this school - of _everyone_- and their frickin' double standards."

"Kurt," Shue banged his fist on the piano, "I'll see you in the principal's office first thing tomorrow."

"No," Kurt tilted his chin again, "no, you won't."

A sudden, stunned, silence pervaded the room.

"I don't want to get you suspended," Shue looked helplessly around the room for inspiration, "but this behaviour is_ unacceptable_ for _anyone_."

"You know what's unacceptable, _sir_?" Kurt asked mockingly, "the way _everyone_ turns a blind eye to what happens in this veritable hell-hole. And it won't ever change," he paused briefly to angrily wipe the tears from his eyes, "because _nobody cares_."

"Kurt, _we_ care" Finn tried.

"Oh don't even get me_ started_ on your closeted homophobia," Kurt sneered, blinking away the fresh tears glistening in his eyes, "and you _don't _care. None of you do." He held up a hand to block their protests, "you all expect me to just _take it_, like it's my god-given responsibility in life to be the proverbial punching bag for every homophobic closet case looking to vent their sexual frustrations." He ignored the slightly confused looks at the last part – he supposed only Blaine would understand that – "you _never_ ask about it, you never even _mention_ it," he scoffed, "like you believe it'll just _go away_ if you pretend it doesn't exist? Well it does. And it hasn't gone away; in fact it's gotten _worse_." He took some satisfaction at the guilt on their faces, "now I don't just get _trash_ on my face, I get _bruises_."

"Kurt, we didn't know-"Mercedes looked heartbroken. But that was just it, wasn't it?

"No you didn't," he agreed, "but whose fault is that? It's not like they go out of their way to _hide_ what they're doing," he pointed out, "it's not like they corner me in dark alleys, they do it in the _hallway, _in full of view of _everyone_." Breathing was becoming more difficult, he needed to wrap this up and get _out_ of there so he could breakdown somewhere. "And not _once_ has anyone noticed. Not _one single time_ has anyone even offered me a hand up, a word of comfort, a shoulder to cry on..." he shook his head angrily, "and that's not even the worst of it. The physical _abuse_ I can handle, it's momentary, and it means _nothing_, but the insults? The slurs? The 'go to hell, fag' yelled down the corridor," he was losing control of his tear ducts now but he wasn't finished, not even close.

"The notes slipped in my locker," his voice dropped to a painful, raw, whisper – he hadn't even told Blaine about the notes – "telling me to go hang myself and make the world a better place?" He took a deep, shuddering, breath, "and every day I walk around with that hanging over my head. Every day I _struggle_ to tell myself it _isn't true_ that not _everyone_ feels that way. But then, you know what? Maybe everyone _does_." His heart clenched, "and maybe it hasn't seemed so in the past," he thought of his desperate crush on Finn, "but I know when I'm not wanted." And then he was out the door and running before anyone could even think to stop him.

_Screw them all_.

He fled down the corridor; satchel clutched tightly in his hands, and tried to hold back the tears. His throat was burning as he repressed the sobs, and his vision was beginning to blur. He barged through the doors – for once not caring if it messed up his outfit – and bumped straight into a large fleshy object. His heart plummeted.

_You never miss a chance to screw with me, huh_?

He mentally cursed the potential existence of a clearly sadistic God.

"Well if it isn't the resident fairy," a vice-like grip settled around his arms as tried to back away.

"Let me go," Kurt whispered wearily, he'd just about drained his emotions in the last ten minutes.

"What no mouthing off today?" Azimio chuckled harshly, "is the little fag feeling down?"

"Don't call me that" Kurt yelled, ignoring the tight squeeze around his arms and the fact that he was hopelessly outnumbered – and there were only two of them.

"Aww did I hurt your feelings?" Azimio scoffed.

Kurt ignored him, "no longer afraid of catching the gay?" He tilted his chin and shot Karofsky an arrogant look, readying himself for the inevitable punch-up that was sure to follow, "or have you finally realised you can't catch what you _already have_?" Karofsky's grip tightened until Kurt felt like the blood circulation to his arms had been cut off.

"Shut up, fag," he growled, digging his blunt nails into Kurt's skin, "you don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my mistake," Kurt sneered, "guess I must have imagined the other day." He broke off thoughtfully, "although I could've _sworn _you-" he was cut off as Karofsky's hands migrated from his arms to his throat.

"You shut up!" The larger boy yelled as Kurt flailed slightly, completely unable to free himself. He was desperately trying to choke in air but his airway was refusing to cooperate. He could feel his vision blurring as he kicked out helplessly.

_Where was everyone? Had no one even bothered to follow him? Where was Blaine?_

"Karofsky, I think that's enough man," he could faintly hear Azimio's voice over the roaring in his ears.

"Dude you're going to kill him," now Azimio sounded faintly horrified Guess he hadn't been the one to leave that note in his locker.

Suddenly he was falling to the ground and his throat was aching, but there was air. He choked in a few gasps, wincing and coughing as it brushed down his throat. For a moment he just lay there, gulping and gasping in air like it was going out of fashion. He could feel the harsh gravel as he shifted slightly to roll onto his back, uncaring when the fabric of his jacket snagged slightly.

So he'd been right all along. No one cared. No one had bothered to follow him. If they had, would they even have stopped it?

He doubted it.

Groaning slightly he drew himself up into a sitting position, curling his knees up against his chest and burying his head in them. The tears came then, hot and fast, tainting his pale skin red and blotchy, smearing the makeup that hid the ever present dark circles that lurked underneath his eyes. They dripped unceremoniously onto his pants creating damp patches that mingled with the blood oozing from grazes he'd obtained when he'd hit the ground. His head was _aching_ and pounding and it didn't matter anymore that he was an absolute _mess_ because he could barely think straight.

It was all too much.

He needed to get out of there. Out of school. Out of Lima. Just out, away. _Anywhere_.

His phone beeped and he reluctantly retrieved it from the pocked of his satchel, pressing the button and watching as the message popped up on the screen.

From: Blaine.

_You ok? _

Oh so _now_ he cared? He scowled and stabbed the buttons on the phone as he responded.

_Don't pretend to care. I expected better from you, at least. _

He shoved the phone into his bag; he wasn't really interested in initiating what would probably turn into a text fight. But when the phone beeped again his curiosity got the better of him and, with a huff, he grabbed it and read the message.

_You know I care. Why else would I be here? Tell me where you are so I can find you._

"Liar," Kurt muttered, he realised he was probably acting childishly but he was beyond caring at this point. He was _angry_ and damnit if he wasn't going to take it out on _everyone_.

_To spy on us, obviously. And no._

He realised he'd probably better consider getting up off the ground, lest the dirt become so deeply ingrained he couldn't wash it off later. He looked at the shreds of fabric adorning his knees – not that these pants were saveable anyway.

_You don't really believe that. Come on, we should talk._

"Don't want to," he scowled but relented, if anything he could vent at Blaine.

_Fine. Outside. On the ground. _

He lay back down figuring he probably couldn't wreck his clothing – or hair – any more than it already had been, and god he was tired. Tired of everything. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Life wasn't supposed to be this hard, was it?

"Kurt?" He heard Blaine's voice somewhere behind him and that fluttery feeling he got every time the boy was near invaded his chest, "are you okay?" He felt him kneel down beside him.

"Nothing I can't handle," Kurt still refused to open his eyes, he was sort of enjoying the darkness.

"What happened?" He felt Blaine's hand ghost across his throat and realised it was probably red from when Karofsky had pretty much tried to kill him.

But Blaine didn't need to know that. It wasn't like he actually cared anyway.

He shrugged, "nothing."

"Kurt don't be like this," Blaine sighed, "I know you're upset but this isn't helping anyone."

Kurt just didn't answer, he kept his eyes closed and desperately tried to ignore his reaction to the proximity of the other. Sometimes, having raging teenage hormones was just plain _annoying_. He couldn't really stay mad at Blaine on account of the fact that he body was feeling a few vastly different emotions for him.

"Please don't shut me out," Blaine was pleading but he somehow managed to stay calm, collected, "You need to talk to _someone_ and I know for a fact you aren't talking to anyone else."

"They wouldn't want to listen," he muttered.

"You never gave them the chance," Blaine countered.

Kurt's eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly, "you're pinning this on _me_?" He felt...betrayed. Was _no one_ on his side? This was eerily reminiscent of the whole Finn, Sam, Dad scenario. Some people were just supposed to take his side _no matter what_, he'd thought Blaine was one of those people in this situation at least – _he didn't know anyone else_.

"No," Blaine said calmly, seemingly right at home kneeling on the gravel, "I'm just pointing out the fact that you've apparently been pushing people away."

"Maybe so," Kurt admitted then scowled, "but it's not like anyone _really _reached out. They all just let it go."

"The hardest people to help are those who _don't want it_." Blaine sighed, "Kurt, honestly I think you're all in the wrong here." He halted Kurt's protests with a finger, "just listen. Yes, they should have noticed you pulling away from them. Heck, they probably did. But I doubt any of them really knew what was causing it or how to fix it. I'm not done," he motioned for Kurt to wait, "you are _not_ the easiest person to get close to. You keep _everything_ locked up so tightly and you walk around with a chip on your shoulder the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. I realise that's a defence but Kurt, you can't push people away and still expect them to reach out. You can only poke so many holes into a relationship before it starts to sink."

"It was Karofsky," Kurt whispered finally, "I ran into him and he grabbed me and Azimio was insulting me and," he took a shuddering breath, "I just _snapped_. I was just so sick of it all I," he shook his head in partial disbelief, "I tried to out him –Karofsky – in front of Azimio and he just, he got so mad he was _strangling _me."

Blaine moved closer so they were bumping shoulders and sighed, "You have the _worst_ timing of anyone I've ever met."

Kurt snorted but the sound was devoid of any real humour; a dry, empty, husk of sound.

"I think we need to talk about those notes you mentioned," there was a slight undertone of alarm in Blaine's normally even voice.

"Oh..." Kurt whispered, "They're nothing."

"They're not nothing," Blaine gripped his shoulder, "can you show me one?"

Kurt sighed, "it's not a big deal," he fished one out of his bag and handed it over. He saw Blaine's face tighten in fury as he read it.

_Fag. Jump off a bridge already would you? Do your part to make the world a better place._

"How many?" Blaine asked quietly, his voice trembling with controlled rage.

Kurt looked away, "a few a week," he sighed, 'they're all the same...not very creative. It's fine, Blaine."

"This is _not fine_," Blaine yelled suddenly, "Kurt, this is _not okay_."

Kurt stared for a second, taken aback at the raw fury he saw burning in the other's dark eyes. This was a side of Blaine he hadn't seen. The side that had obviously went through similar hell. The part of him that hadn't yet fully overcome the unadulterated hate he'd been subjected to.

"This is-" he broke off and breathed deeply before turning to Kurt and gripping him by the shoulders. His grip was firm but gentle in deep contrast to the agonised expression on his face.

"Kurt, there will always be people who say those things to you but you _have_ to believe me," Blaine urged him, a tone of desperation in his voice, "it's not because they hate _you_, it's because they're frightened of what you _are_. Homosexuality scares them because it's _different, _and some people just don't know how to handle the unknown. You understand that, right?"

"You're wrong," Kurt thought about all the insults, the _looks_, the hatred he could _feel_ radiating from some of them, "it's me they hate."

"Oh god no," Blaine looked stricken, Kurt had never seen him so uncontrolled so _vulnerable_, "Kurt it isn't _you_, they don't even _know_ you."

"And they don't care to," Kurt began but Blaine interrupted him almost...angrily.

"It _isn't_ you," he repeated firmly, "if you were just another straight guy they wouldn't look _twice_ at you."

"Ouch?" Kurt tried, and failed, to make light of the situation.

"Because it's not _you_ that threatens them, it's their own fears."

"Why is this so important to you" Kurt asked curiously, watching as Blaine paled slightly and released him to rest his clenched fists on his knees.

"I knew someone," he said slowly, pain lacing his voice, "before I came to Dalton. He used to get those kinds of notes _all the time_," he broke off and gripped his knees tightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening, "his family found him, one night, lying in the bathtub," his voice hitched slightly, "he'd slit his wrists...bled to death. The notes..." he breathed deeply, "they found them in the room – he'd been reading them – and on the desk," a single tear gathered in the corner of his eye, "he'd written _'Now the world's a better place'._"

"He was your friend?" Kurt gingerly took Blaine's hand and held it between his own.

"More than that," Blaine admitted, grasping Kurt's hand gratefully.

"And you got those letters too?" He guessed, feeling terrible for trying to dismiss the letters. Truth was, they _had_ affected him. Deeply.

"I had even considered..." he trailed off, and Kurt was left with no illusions as to what he meant, "but after I saw what it did to his family – what it did to _me_ – and how those _bastards_ would _joke_ about it," he clenched his jaw, "how they paraded around saying it was _for the best_, that it was _what God wanted_," he turned to look at Kurt, "I just couldn't...you can't _ever_ do that Kurt, don't ever let them make you doubt your right to _live_." He fixed Kurt with an intense look that sent shivers down his spine.

What could he say? That they already _had?_ His silence, it seemed, was telling enough.

"Kurt, you have just as much right to be here as any of those self-righteous bastards," Blaine said softly, "more even, since you're a better human being than they'll _ever_ be."

"Thanks," Kurt leaned against Blaine's shoulder, feeling the warmth that came from body-to-body contact, "you too, you know."

He felt Blaine's sigh of relief, "that's good and listen, Kurt."

"Yeah?" He was only half-focused now, his stomach doing little flips as it registered that he was, in fact, leaning on Blaine. And that maybe, just maybe, he had a little crush.

"If you _ever_ feel differently – even a little bit – you call me. Right away." He nudged him when Kurt didn't respond, "okay?"

"Hmm?" Kurt dragged his mind out of 'teenage dream' land and met Blaine's amused eyes.

"You're not even listening are you?" Blaine accused playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," Kurt smiled as he felt the tension ebb away and then his thoughts turned to what he was going to do now. What _was_ he going to do now? He didn't really want to stay at McKinley. At all. But then where would he go? Dalton was _expensive_. It was really the only other option he had, though.

"Do they have scholarships at your school?" Kurt inquired casually, knowing Blaine was bound to pick up on what he was actually trying to say.

"I think so," Blaine's eyes softened, "you want to transfer?"

"I don't know," Kurt said honestly, "but I know that I don't want to stay here."

Blaine wished he was strong enough to tell Kurt to stay, to face up to the bullies, but he wasn't even sure it was the best idea anymore. Besides, he couldn't bear to see him suffer any longer. Kurt deserved the kind of happiness and security that Dalton could provide.

"I'll look into it," he said instead and hugged the other around the shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, the last chapter took place _after_ both 'Never been kissed' and 'the substitute', but before 'Furt'. This chapter starts off pretty much where we left off in the last one, and will lead _up_ to Furt. (maybe not in this chapter but in the next one).

Also, thank you all so, _so,_ much for the reviews (and favourites and alerts). I'm incredibly flattered that you guys think I've got them in character – I was actually worried about that. Especially since recent episodes seem to have highlighted some aspects of Kurt's character I previously thought a little less overt.

I chose to take Kurt's flamboyant 'happiness' in 'substitute' as a cover - a mask – for a whole lot of decidedly opposite emotions warring within him. Clearly the abuse is still occurring – if the death threat is anything to go by. Even though Blaine's presence in his life soothes that pain somewhat, it isn't going to make it go away. Instead, it's festering inside of him and despite this new 'happy-go-lucky' facade – it's eating away at him.

Oh, also I mean absolutely _no_ offence to any religious denomination whatsoever. I, myself, am religious. I just don't see how that translates to homophobia.

Hang onto your seats, it gets a little bumpy from here.

...

"Blaine, I don't know if I can do this." Kurt's fingers were bone-white as he grasped his I-phone like a lifeline. He relaxed slightly as Blaine's calm, soothing, voice floated through the speaker.

"_Yes, you can Kurt." _Blaine's voice was warm, comforting.

"No..." Kurt whispered, "I can't tell him, I can't – he _doesn't know_ Blaine!" Kurt dragged a shaking hand through his hair and gripped the phone tighter, "he has no _idea_ how bad it's gotten, and I can't..."

"_Courage, remember? He has to know. I know you think you're protecting him, but in the long run you're making it worse. Trust me. It would __**kill**__ him to know you're keeping it a secret."_

"But I _can't_..." Kurt trailed off, Blaine was right. His dad would be hurt he hadn't confided in him. But he couldn't stand to see that _look_ on his face. That frightened – terrified – gleam in his eyes, and the _sorrow_...the _pain_. His dad didn't know how to deal with this anymore than he did.

"_Kurt your dad loves you, right? You told me he was supportive when you came out."_

"He was," Kurt fisted the bed sheets, curling his fingers into the warmth of the duvet.

"_Then correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't he want to be able to help you?"_

"You don't understand," Kurt deflected the question, "it's _not his fight_. I don't want to drag him into this; I can't see him suffer because of me."

_Because I'm a fag._

He heard a frustrated sigh echo through the speaker, "_Kurt, how many times do I have to tell you? None of this is your fault."_

"How do you know?" Kurt asked quietly, "Maybe if I'd just tried harder to be normal-"

"_Kurt don't talk like that."_

"Well maybe it's true," he argued.

"_It's not._"

"Maybe it _is_." Kurt replied stubbornly. After all, he only had about a dozen self-righteous religious people telling him to 'repent' and his soul would be saved' telling him that he'd _chosen_ this path and that it was his _choice_ whether or not to continue to follow it. Maybe they had a point. Maybe if he'd just tried that little bit harder to be normal – to blend in – to _belong_. Maybe if he hadn't been so _out_ and so _proud_ and so _screw what anybody else thinks_. Maybe they would've left him alone. Then he wouldn't have to have seen the light _die_ in his father's eyes every time he received a derogatory phone call. To see those powerful shoulders slump helplessly against the wall, strong hands practically shaking with not just rage but _fear_. Fear for his son.

It _was_ his fault.

If he were normal _none_ of this would have happened.

"_Kurt listen to yourself," _Blaine sounded frustrated, "_who would choose this? You didn't decide to be gay; it is _not_ your fault." _

"I can't do it," Kurt said finally, "I may not be able to change my sexuality, but if I can spare him just a _modicum_ of pain by keeping him in the dark, then I'll do it."

"_Well you can't transfer to Dalton without telling him_" Blaine's response sent of shock of cold down his spine.

He was right. If he told his Dad he wanted to transfer to Dalton, he would ask why. There was no logical excuse Kurt could give bar an _escape_ from the bullying.

"Then I won't go," he said finally.

"_Kurt, you're not making it easy to help you." _Blaine sounded like he was in the process of pulling out his hair.

"I never _asked_ for your help!" Kurt clutched his phone tightly and blinked angry tears from his eyes.

"_Maybe not_, _but you needed it all the same." _Blaine sighed, "_and I'm trying Kurt, but you keep finding excuses not to do anything."_

"I-" Kurt began.

"_You're pissed off that no-one notices at your school – that no one cares – but when it comes down to it you're not willing to do anything about it yourself._" Blaine interrupted him, a harsh note in his voice, "_you desperately want someone to help, but you refuse to ask for it. And then when help serves itself to you on a silver platter, you turn it away."_

"_You're_ the one who told me transferring was running away," Kurt accused, hurt causing his voice to rise several notes above its usual pitch, "that I should stand up to them, that I shouldn't let them chase me away."

"_Yes, I did." _Blaine answered unhesitatingly, "_but to a certain point, and Kurt you reached it when you exploded in front of your entire Glee club and _yelled_ at your teacher."_

"You are _such_ a hypocrite!" Kurt spat into the phone, his mind was clouding with hurt and rage and it was all he could do to think properly. Blaine was just like everyone else. He'd made a show of caring and now he was tired of it – bored – and he'd drop him just like Finn, just like Mr Shue.

"_Kurt, staying at that school is _not_ helping you," _Blaine snapped, his temper ignited, "_I would be a poor friend if I told you to suck it up and take it."_

"_Friends_ have each other's back _no matter what_," Kurt hissed, angry and hurt beyond rational thought. He was seeing things through a red haze – a new light – and he didn't like what he saw. "They _don't _take someone _else's_ side, and they certainly don't _pretend_ to care."

"_Oh not this again,_" Blaine sounded angry, "_Kurt not _everyone _in the world is out to get you! Some people _genuinely _care_ _and god, I thought you knew I was one of them_."

"I thought so too, Blaine." Kurt said softly, "guess we were both wrong." He hung up and flung the phone onto the end of his bed with a tad more force than necessary. Curling his knees up to his chest, he grasped them with his arms and buried his head between them. He felt hot tears gathering in his eyes and his throat constricted painfully. A harsh sob escaped and suddenly the flood gates were released. As the droplets slid down his chin he allowed himself to let it all out. He shuddered slightly as the sobs wracked his body and his head started to pound in time with the rapid fluttering of his heart.

_What's wrong with me?_

He'd probably just chased away the only person who seemed to actually care. The only one who _understood_ what he was going through, who could empathise. No, he was wrong. Blaine didn't care – he never had. Kurt was just a project; a sad, lonely, boy who needed help and Blaine was all too happy to be the perfect saviour.

_He never really cared. None of them ever did. _

He brushed sweaty hair off of his face and tried to calm himself down; there was no use crying over a relationship he'd never really had. He needed to regain his control, to slide his mask back into place.

_For Dad._

The only one who _truly_ cared. The only one who'd stood by him through thick and thin, and never stopped loving him despite all the pain and hurt he'd brought him over the years. And god, there was so much of it...and it was _all_ his fault.

He took a deep breath; he could do this. He could go back to McKinley. He _would_.

But he wouldn't just go back; he'd blend in.

_For Dad._

...

"Mr Shue?" Kurt knocked gently on the doorframe, "I'd like a word." It was technically a question, but his tone left no room for argument.

"Sure, have a seat." The teacher's voice was noticeably cooler than the last time Kurt had spoken to him, and he resisted the urge to flinch away from the speculative gleam in the older man's eyes. He settled himself into the chair, propping his bag against the side, and crossed his legs. Suddenly, he remembered his new resolution to _fit in_ and uncrossed them. Resting his hands on his knees he lent forward slightly.

"I'd like to apologise for my behaviour yesterday," he kept his voice calm and neutral, "I understand I was out of line and I'll accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

Shue looked at him wearily, the lines on his brow creasing, "Kurt, what you said? Frankly, I'm worried."

"It's no big deal," Kurt wished he could take back _everything_ he'd yelled the other day. He'd honestly had no intention of telling _anyone_ what was going on. It was, as he'd told Mr Shue before, his hill to climb, alone. "I was just tired and upset," he shrugged, "it won't happen again."

_It's not as if you care anyway. _

Besides, teacher intervention never truly amounted to a whole lot. If anything, it would only force the bullies to become more creative and vindictive when they realised he'd 'told' on them. He was also unconvinced Shue's concern was anything more than a fleeting fancy – a reaction to his tirade. It would pass and when it did – if the bullying had even stopped – it would most likely start up again ten times worse.

"You said you're being physically abused," Shue pointed out, resting his elbows on his desk, "that sounds like something to me."

"Just the occasional locker slam," Kurt lied, wincing internally, "nothing that hasn't happened before." The unsaid 'and you never stopped it _then'_ loomed over their heads.

"You seemed to think differently last Friday."

"I was angry," Kurt sighed and averted his eyes, "but it's fine now." He reached down to grab his satchel, "that's all I wanted to say."

"Kurt," Shue spread his hands open and looked earnestly at him, "I can't help you if you downplay the situation."

"There is no situation Mr Shue," he clenched the straps of his bag tightly and smoothed a creased in the oversized trousers he was wearing.

_At least, no more of one than there's always been._

Shue sighed and dropped his shoulders in acquiescence, "alright, but no more yelling about how no one cares, okay? Because it seems to me that you don't give people very much to work with. There's no punishment this time, but don't let it happen again."

Kurt nodded stiffly and rose to his feet, pausing briefly at the door, "thank you," he ducked his head briefly before schooling his features into neutrality and then paused.

He had to do this; it was for the best. Glee club was obvious, it was blatant. If he was to survive the next few years he needed to become invisible. So as much as it broke his heart...

"Also," he swallowed painfully, "I no longer wish to be a part of Glee, it's taking up too much of my time and I need to focus more on my studies." He swept out the door, leaving Mr Shue no time to argue with him.

_Not that he would_.

As he walked down the corridor he hunched his shoulders and pulled a cap out of his satchel. Shoving it onto his head and fighting the instinctive wince as it mussed his unusually messy hair further, he crept almost furtively past the lockers. His new plan of survival involved flying under the radar and to do that he needed to look like every other male student at McKinley – which meant no more makeup and face products, no more hair spray and a closet full of oversized trousers and flannel T-shirts. He shuddered slightly.

_It's all worth it, in the end._

He almost considered skipping his first class. It was maths with Mercedes. He'd been ignoring her calls and texts all weekend – deleting them without even reading them – and he imagined she'd probably be furious.

_If she actually cared_; he reminded himself, then snorted. She'd get mad anyway – she just didn't like being ignored.

His phone buzzed. He whipped it out and scowled when his gaze fell on the sender.

_Blaine_.

He deleted it.

The bell rung signalling the start of class and he hurried into the maths classroom, glad that he was one of the first to arrive. He quickly sat in some other guy's seat and slouched down, pulling his cap further down his face in an admittedly futile attempt to hide his identity. As a few more students filtered in he felt a presence beside him and a shadow fell upon his desk.

'Ummm," someone cleared their throat, "this is my seat."

Kurt looked up and glared fiercely, "oh?" he feigned nonchalance, "guess you'd better find another one."

"Umm-ah yeah," the guy deflated and walked off.

Immediately the scowl fell from his face as a wave of self loathing crashed through his body. Now he was acting just like _them_; stealing some poor guy's chair. But he couldn't bear to face Mercedes. Not after everything he'd said. It seemed this plan – like pretty much _all_ his others – was doomed to fail before it had even begun.

"White boy you had better have a _damn_ good excuse for _everything_ you've done." A cool voice sliced through his thoughts and he looked up to find a very furious Mercedes clutching the sides of his desk so tightly he was marginally afraid it might shatter.

"Everything?" He raised an eyebrow, natural defensive methods kicking in. He would keep this at bay; deflect the questions, she'd tire of it soon enough.

Oh but he knew her better than that.

"Don't you play dumb with me!" She grabbed him by the arm and proceeded to drag him from the chair. He stumbled to his feet as she jerked his arm and reluctantly followed her from the room. He'd sort of expected this; at some point, anyway. Out of the classroom, she released him and jabbed him the chest, "Now explain."

"Explain what?" He asked hopelessly, pretty much resigned to fact that he wasn't getting out of this interrogation.

"_Explain_," she waved her hands in the air, "why you never said a _word_ about everything that was happening with Karofsky." Her eyes darkened, "_explain_ why you've ignored me _all weekend_, and you'll damn well explain to me when I stopped being your _best friend_." He could hear the hurt in her voice and it killed him that he'd put it there.

He felt the beginnings of tears and mentally cursed his tendency to be over-emotional about pretty much everything. Sometimes, it was a hazard.

"I just-I," he stammered uncharacteristically and looked away, unsure of how to explain anything since he wasn't entirely certain himself. Everything had seemed so much clearer in his head – made so much more sense.

"And why in the _hell_ are you wearing those ridiculous clothes?" She interrupted him, "I don't even _recognise_ you anymore. It's like you're a different person and I'm just trying so _hard_ to find the old Kurt Hummel in there, but I _just can't see him_." She crossed her arms and looked expectantly at him.

He looked down, unable to face her. He'd screwed up again. He'd hurt someone else in his life and all because he just couldn't seem to fit in, no matter _what _he did.

"I miss him," she said softly, placing a hand on his cheek and lifting his gaze to her eyes, "tell me he's still in there, somewhere."

He felt his throat clogging up, "I...I don't know," he rasped.

_Maybe he doesn't want to be_.

"What happened to you?" She whispered, hand falling down to her side, "and how did I miss it?"

"You weren't watching," He said bitterly, still fighting the urge to just breakdown and _cry_. He'd been doing that so much lately he was surprised he hadn't run out of tears.

"No," she shook her head emphatically, "oh no you don't," a hint of anger caressed her voice, "you don't get to blame that on _me_."

He looked away, grinding his jaw tightly.

"You never said _anything_," she accused, "_you_ pretended like it wasn't happening, and you're blaming _us_ for it?"

"You never cared enough to ask." He snapped and she jolted back as if he'd physically struck her.

"Is that what you think?" She asked, hurt, "that I don't _care_? _How could you think that_?" She yelled, "you are my _best friend_, hell you're like _family_."

"Some family you must have," he sneered.

"Who _are_ you?" She stared at him, shocked, "you're like a different person. I don't even know you anymore."

"I-"He wanted so badly to apologise for everything he'd done. For bringing her down by being her friend, for tainting her with his abnormality. "I guess you didn't know me as well as you thought," he said instead, confident this would drive her away.

"I guess not," she looked stricken and he couldn't bear the sight any longer. He turned tail and fled.

_It's for the best. _

He couldn't go back to maths now; not when all he wanted to do was find a dark corner to curl up in and cry. Or a closet. And maybe this time he'd just stay in it. Heaven knew it was a _hell_ of a lot easier. Seeing the choir room was empty he ducked in and closed the door behind him. He sat down on the piano stool and dropped his bag onto the floor. Resting his fingers on the keys he began to play a haunting melody.

"_Close every door to me,"_ he sung softly, "_Hide all the world from me_," his fingers tapped gently on the keys flitting from naturals to flats in quick succession.

"_Bar all the windows; and shut out the light."_ He bowed his head, "_Do what you want with me_," he felt tears gathering, "_hate me and laugh at me; darken my daytime, and torture my night."_ The tears began to roll down his cheek, "_If my life were important, I, would ask will I live or die,"_ he pressed harder against the keys, "_but I know the answers, lie far from this world."_ He slumped against the piano and rested his head in his arms, tasting salt in his mouth as he struggled to hold back the tidal wave threatening to drown him.

"Hummel?" A rough voice echoed around the room and Kurt nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Puck?" He hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"I always skip this period," the other shrugged and then levelled a curious look at him, "why are_ you_ here?" He wrinkled his nose, "and why do you look like my grandpa?"

"None of your business," Kurt scowled and turned around on the piano seat, figuring that if he simply ignored Puck he'd go away.

"Uh huh, so listen Hummel."

_So much for that plan._

"What?" He snapped, still refusing to turn around.

"I'm sorry for Friday dude," Puck shifted uncomfortably, "but what you said was crap and I couldn't just let it sit."

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Kurt said frostily.

Puck growled, "you want to know _why_ I threw you in the dumpster so much?" He clenched his fists, "because you're _insufferable_."

"Ooo big word," Kurt sneered.

"You walk around with your nose in the air like you're better than _everyone_," he stalked closer, "and you throw around those big words like you're smarter-"

"Oh please," Kurt stood up and turned around to glare fiercely at the other, "you threw me in the dumpster because you – like most other _straight_ guys in this homophobic cess pool – believed all I wanted was a peak at your 'junk'" he quoted Karofsky mockingly.

"I don't give a rat's ass that you're gay," Puck said angrily, "so stop using it as a flipping crutch."

"A crutch?" Kurt asked incredulously, "I don't use it _as a crutch_!"

"You blame _everything_ on it," Puck insisted, "but what you just don't get, Hummel, is that you're irritating _beyond belief_ sometimes, and yeah maybe it's 'cause you act like a girl, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't give a _damn_ who you screw."

Kurt blinked and felt like maybe he should be offended, but it sort of seemed like Puck was actually being _nice_ in an insulting, roundabout, way.

"And look I know I called you _that_ on Friday dude, but I didn't mean it. I just – I'm cool with the whole gay thing, but my ma _isn't_. At least I don't think she is." He rubbed his head, "it just – it"

"I understand," Kurt interrupted him. He knew he was lucky his Dad had been so accepting of his sexuality, and realistically he knew that a lot of people just didn't have it that good – at home, anyway.

"I'm _not_ gay," Puck clarified, "but I just worry that something like that would hurt her anyway."

Kurt nodded and wearily dropped back onto the piano seat.

"So we're cool?" Puck raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Kurt attempted a small smile, "even though you insulted my personality."

Puck shrugged, "hey, I only said _sometimes_."

"Hmm," Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Well see you at Glee then," Puck said awkwardly, turning to leave.

"No you won't," Kurt whispered, picking his bag up and clutching it to his chest.

"What?" Puck apparently had super-human hearing.

"Nothing," Kurt stood up and made as if to leave, but Puck grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.

"You said 'no, you won't'" Puck accused him.

"If you heard than why did you ask?" Kurt deflected irritably, shaking his sleeve from the other's grasp.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demanded.

Kurt sighed, he'd find out anyway, "I quit."

"Why?" Puck looked surprised and, to Kurt's shock, a little upset, "is it 'cause of what I said? 'Cause I said sorry-"

"It's not," Kurt said shortly, "I just don't enjoy it anymore."

He hadn't realised how absolutely true that was until he'd said it. He didn't know how long he'd felt this way but a shock jolted through his body at the realisation that he truly couldn't remember a time that he _had_ enjoyed Glee. At least, not since Shue had relented and allowed them to do Brittany Spears.

"But dude you like _love_ singing." Puck protested.

"Yeah but I usually enjoy singing words, rather than phonemes," it was only the surface issue, but it was true nonetheless.

"Yeah, I don't know what those are."

"Ooohs and Aaahs," he sighed as he scooted around Puck and out the door.

A/N: Song was 'Close every door' by Andrew Lloyd Webber.


End file.
